I dream in vivid color
but sometimes only blue.
A deep blue—
the sort of cerulean that outlines clouds even
when I can’t quite see their outlines.
That certain blue
the consistency of salt marshes
cut by egrets balanced one-legged
watching sea grass melt
its signature into bottom sand.
Not because it was funny,
but because it was bizarre:
that’s why I woke from the dream laughing,
hearing my voice bubble from my mouth
without belonging to me.
My own voice
like rain at a distance. A photo in a shadow box
and I am both frame and image. Or
like tasting snow
that melts quick on the tongue.
could be coming closer or
moving toward the endless, curving horizon.
Casey Lynn Roland recently earned an MFA in Writing, concentrating on Poetry from the University of New Hampshire. She grew up in Massachusetts and New Hampshire, splitting her time between the North Shore and Lake Winnipesaukee. Her poetry attempts to reconcile her relationship to those places and the people in them, and how they change over time. Casey Lynn lives in Beverly, Massachusetts with one very talkative parakeet, named Pigwidgeon, and 46 not-so-talkative house plants.